


Relentless

by PetraTodd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, F/M, Kissing, Tumblr: Ladies of Sherlock, Vamplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 00:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1408402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetraTodd/pseuds/PetraTodd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock referred to Sally as an old friend, he really meant it. They've known each other for a century, and while he never changes, she has. For the "Ladies of Sherlock-April" Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relentless

In the end, it was easy to find him when she went looking; roofs were their places long before Sherlock decided to make a splashy public exit from one to solve his little problem. She found him sitting on the ledge of a nine-story bank edifice, smoking a cigarette with his legs dangling over the edge and swinging like a child’s. The night air was warm, and when she peered overhead through the smog of the city, the white stars shone.

“I knew you’d come back, once you had a bit of fun wherever you were. That’s all it was to you, wasn’t it? Fun with that pretentious monster. Games. Never mind that there were people, _children’s_ lives at stake.” Her handbag landed beside him with a thud. Sally followed it, sitting beside him, taking care to avoid a muddy damp spot near the ledge. Why the hell had she worn one of her good work suits to chase him down?

She glanced back at the oversized heap on the roof behind them and gestured. “What’s that about?”

“A gift, for an old friend.” Sherlock shrugged and stubbed out his cigarette. “Anyway, Moriarty’s network had to be dismantled. I have saved lives, after a fashion. It’s taken care of.”

“And by taken care of, you mean they’re in scattered bloody pieces somewhere they won’t be found.”

Sherlock’s eyes burned a vibrant green-blue in the dark, and his fangs slid from their sheaths as his smile widened. “As I said, _dismantled_.”

She rolled her eyes. “Hilarious. Yeah, that’s really clever. Does Mycroft know you’re back?” Sally tilted her head to face Sherlock. “And don’t look at me like it’s a stupid question. He doesn’t always know as much as he acts like he knows.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened in faux-shock, and then he laughed. “You’re catching on, _Sergeant_ Donovan. Sometimes he’s almost human.”

“Oh fuck off, ‘catching on.’ I’m older than you are.” The white fangs Sally flashed in his direction were dagger-sharp, and there was no smiling. Her eyes glittered and she knew that when Sherlock gazed into them, he would see nothing but impenetrable darkness.

He nodded.

Sally leapt to her feet on the ledge, feeling the irritation rise and remembering why she avoided her blood clan as much as possible. She was tempted to kick him off the edge and see if he could survive a fall twice in one decade.

“So what’s with the stinking man in the sack? I smell cheap vodka, cheap cigars and the stained sheets he slept on last night. Disgusting but not criminal.” She headed for the spot where the crumpled man-shaped pile lay.

“Oooh deductions, yes, let’s play.” Sherlock jumped up and spun around, gleefully hopping off the ledge. “Since you’ve already started.”

“No, no more games, I told you. It’s late, I’ve just got off work, and I’m hungry. Shouldn’t have bothered coming for you, but when I sensed you-“

Sherlock broke into a grin.

“Oh right, you wanted me to find you. ‘Course you did.“ She shook her head. Sherlock and his games. She had enjoyed them once, so many years ago before she grew to understand that there were hearts and lives attached to every piece of evidence. All those decades ago when there was nothing but selfish pleasures of the flesh and adventures of the world with her fellow kind, before the gluttony of it all rang hollow.

“At least let me see him.”

Sherlock bounded over to the form on the ground and ripped off the canvas covering that had been loosely bound around the dazed man. “Well?”

Sally stooped and studied him. The man was entranced, and more or less physically undamaged. So Sherlock was presenting her a decent specimen to study. She had sniffed out his alcohol and tobacco usage but he was in generally sound health. She also smelled traces of gunpowder on his fingers, though it wasn’t extremely recent: probably handled several days ago. He was dark-haired, six feet tall and leanly muscled under his soiled clothing; clothes that she saw had been of the highest quality once.

“You came into money, a good bit on one job, didn’t you,” she murmured. “Low-level criminal usually, but you had a lucky break at one point.”

“Good,” Sherlock said, hovering over her.

“His hair is very curl-“ Sally paused, and then bent over the man. She looked up at Sherlock, and did a double-take. “He looks like you.”

“A _little_ like me.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Why are you showing me a man who looks like you?” His earlier words came back to her. _A gift, for an old friend._

Sally stood, her eyes narrowing. She turned to Sherlock who confirmed her suspicions with a nod.

“Yes, there’s your kidnapper. Took me far longer to find him than I thought it would. I had thought Moriarty would have him killed right away, but apparently he was smart enough to disappear himself right after the children were found. The man who abducted two children so they could be slow-poisoned to death, with the crime pinned on me.” Sherlock waved his arm with a flourish. “So you see, I’m not entirely heartless. Here he is, sergeant. For your justice.”

Her eyebrows rose. “My justice?”

He knelt by the kidnapper’s neck, and drew a nail across the man’s throat. A thin line of blood oozed from the cut, and Sally felt a wave of sickening hunger roll through her.

“You should've eaten before work.” From behind, Sherlock’s arms wrapped around her waist, and his voice was tight to her ear. “But he has it coming. Justice. The children only lived because we saved them.”

Sally could hear the man’s heart pounding; he must feel the pain of the cut even through the trance.

 _Good_ , whispered the cruelest part of her mind. _He should feel all of it. The way the children did, and every person he ever hurt for money._

“I remember when we used to hunt together, after Mycroft first gave me the blood. You were a relentless teacher.” His hands stroked her belly, and she felt herself sinking into his body out of old habit. They were the same temperature, ambient; it seemed inevitable to her that his lips should slide up the column of her throat.

She shivered, and stared coldly down at the man before them. “He _should_ die.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said. He kissed her cheek and jaw while his palms lazily stroked her arms. “Open his throat and drink.”

Sally closed her eyes, and flexed her fingers, cracking her knuckles. She stepped forward, freeing herself from his arms, and knelt down to cradle the kidnapper’s face, so like Sherlock’s. She smoothed her thumb over the cut on the man’s throat. She contemplated the smear of blood for a moment and then looked up at Sherlock.

“You never did understand did that things have changed. They have to change. Even games have got to end.”

Sally got up and reached for her handbag, digging out her mobile.

Sherlock stared blankly, and then his nose crinkled in disgust as comprehension dawned.

“Yeah, Greg, it’s Sally.” She met Sherlock’s eyes and spoke loudly, as the wind on the roof threatened to carry off her voice. “I need you to send a car to the address I’m about to give you. I’m bringing in a suspect for the Bruhl children kidnapping. He’s going to make a full confession.”

Another trance wiped the memory of the last few hours from the man’s mind, and nudged him toward the desire to unburden himself to the police. It wasn’t how Sally liked to do police work, but she was content with it; she knew he was guilty.

“You’d better leave, they’ll be here in a couple minutes,” Sally remarked. “I know you miss lurking-about at crime scenes where you don’t belong, but you’re still supposed to be dead.”

“Have been for over a hundred years.” The corner of his mouth curled upward. “And so have you .”

“I used to believe that but I don’t feel dead anymore.” Sally looked up at the stars, crossing her arms around herself. “It’s just simpler for you to believe that- then you don’t have to be part of the world, or even try.

“Really, Dr. Freud?” He gave her a withering glance.

“Oh he was a _complete_ arsehole, don’t get me started on that lecture of his I attended in Wor-”

He looked over the edge. “Sally. They’re here.”

"Get away from there, for fuck's sake. They're not blind, there are lights. Use the fire escape,"she ordered, pointing.

Sherlock jogged to the fire escape on the opposite side of the roof, hopped onto the rickety ladder and climbed down.

“See you around?” she called out impulsively.

Sherlock popped his head back up. “Of course.”

She frowned. “But not at crime scenes.”

Even in the dark, she saw his eyes gleam with mischief as he disappeared down the ladder.


End file.
